


Dark Paintbrushes

by GammaCavy



Category: D.N. Angel
Genre: Anime/Manga Fusion, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Male Friendship, Post-Canon, daisuke dosnt realise this, ghost hangs around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 22:11:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2324963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GammaCavy/pseuds/GammaCavy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Satoshi had a habit of ambushing Daisuke in the art room on his birthday, at least this time he didn't get pinned to the wall, only given a present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Paintbrushes

  It was a normal day for one Daisuke Niwa, no longer tamer to Dark, but an ordinary boy who happened to have thief training, and used to have a sarcastic voice in his head, one that he missed a lot, but didn’t really dare hope would reappear in his head on this sixteenth birthday.  Getting stuck with cleaning up the art room was normal too, and the lock clicking shut was a familiar sound, one that really ought to have scared him by how used to hearing it he was.  But as it stood, he didn’t worry, and only gave Satoshi a sunny smile. “You’re a bit later than usual.”  He tidied another paint box.  
  
 "Of course," the other boy replied simply, measured, purposeful steps moving him across the room where he stopped behind Daisuke. "I wanted to wait to catch you alone."  
  
"Oh?" he asked, shivering as warm breath washed against the back of his neck. Daisuke found it peculiar sometimes how Satoshi seemed to have no qualms about invading his personal space when he would have never allowed the same to be done to him. "Why's that?" He blinked as Satoshi held up a carefully wrapped package, staring at it with a mild look of confusion and surprise.  
  
"Take it, Niwa," Satoshi commanded when it was obvious Daisuke was only going to stare, a hint of annoyance and amusement in his voice. Some things would apparently never change, he thought.  
  
"Oh!" Daisuke hastily set the box on the counter before turning to accept the gift. He stared at it again, idly turning it between his fingers as he studied it curiously. He found a small tear in the wrapping beneath a piece of tape, which told him Satoshi had wrapped it himself. For some reason, that knowledge had him grinning like an idiot.  
  
"Well, are you going to open it or not?" The sudden grinning had Satoshi's eyebrow arching in mild curiosity, but he didn't dare ask. He didn't claim to know how the thief's mind worked, and in this case he firmly believed in the saying that ignorance was bliss. After all Dark had shared that mind, and if he understood how those two thought he might have found himself lamenting the loss of Krad, in more than the fact that there was an empty spot. He did not miss Krad, not at all. After all, Krad had only caused pain. He did not miss Krad.  
  
"Yes," came the cheerful reply. It took the younger boy all of a minute to unfasten the tape, taking care not to tear the paper as much as he could. Inside was a thick black cloth wrapped around what felt like multiple slim sticks, and tied with the same material. Tilting his head curiously, he set the paper on the counter and pulled at the tie, letting what he realized was a case unroll in his hands. Six ebony paintbrush handles carved with wings were settled next to each other in their own slots.  
  
The look of utter shock and astonishment on Daisuke's face was one the Hikari treasured. He watched silently as slender fingers ran over the handles almost reverently, didn't miss the faint trembling of them even if he would never truly understand the deep river of emotions that caused it.  
  
It took Daisuke three swallows before he managed to open his mouth to ask, "Where did you get these?" and even then his voice was hardly more than a whisper.  
  
“I _am_ a Hikari, no matter how much I wish I weren’t.”  
  
"Thank you," he said, and meant it from the very core of his being. "I promise I'll take care of them."  
  
"Of course." And then he felt obliged to add, "Happy Birthday."  
  
The smile on the thief's face could have lit up the room, radiating similar to a hundred-watt bulb. "Thanks," he said again, looking at the case and running his fingers over the coarse material. Strange, he thought, that the only solid reminder he now had of Dark reminded him of Satoshi, as well. A soft voice broke into his thoughts.  
  
“Goodbye Daisuke. And _thank you. For everything_.”  
  
The door clicked again. Daisuke hurried to open it, realizing he would be late home, but the corridor was empty, with no sign that Satoshi had been there a moment ago.  
  
He never saw Satoshi again.

* * *

  
He looked for the other boy everywhere, using all the family connections and network, but he knew if the other boy didn’t want to be found he wouldn’t be. Daisuke was good, but Satoshi was better, and Daisuke kept remembering what the other boy had told him when they were climbing the crumbled stairs in Argentine’s tower. He worried that if he found anything it would only be that Satoshi had died, but even so he wanted to know. Sometimes he would almost give up, but then something would keep him looking. Be it a particular shade of blue seen out of the corner of his eye, but never when he turned around, or a sunbeam that felt almost like a hand on his shoulder, he would start looking again. Riku didn’t understand and he doubted she ever would, any more than she’d understood about Dark. Or why he treasured those paintbrushes so deeply.

**Author's Note:**

> So if it isn't clear, Satoshi made those paintbrushes for Daisuke and then died. Whether or not he was alive when he gave them to Daisuke is deliberately ambiguous, but he's still keeping an eye on Daisuke even as Daisuke looks for him. He made sure no one would be able to find out if he was alive or dead, because he knew he was dying. There isn't even a grave or a body, or anything other than his school records and peoples memories to show that he lived.


End file.
